


Thunder and Lightning

by GeekyTeaLover



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Canon Universe, Fluff, M/M, Minor ww1 mentions, Sleepy Cuddles, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:03:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8469793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekyTeaLover/pseuds/GeekyTeaLover
Summary: Arthur had planned to spend the evening alone with a cup of tea and a good book, but receives an unexpected visitor. Who in their right mind would be out in a storm like this?





	

Thunder rumbled a warning, lightning flashed and rain poured from the sky like the tears of angels. It was starting to look like a proper English storm, and Arthur smiled as the rain beat against his windowpane. Others often complained about his weather, but he'd always loved storms like this, so full of terrifying power. They made him feel brave, and when they were over the world was new and clean. In his youth he had liked to stand outside when storms like this came, laughing as the rain stung his skin, daring the lightning to strike him down (though it never did). Even now, though he preferred to watch the storms from the warm safety of his living room, he was thrilled by their majesty and unrelenting power. 

He sighed, and took another sip of his tea. Perfect. After a very long day of meetings in London, he needed some time alone. He relaxed into his seat, and was about to pick up his book again when he heard a faint knocking. Arthur frowned. Who could calling at this time? Surely it was just the wind knocking the branches of the trees against his house. But then there was a lull in the storm outside and he heard the knocking again, more clearly this time. He sighed, placing his teacup (bone china) onto its saucer and rising to walk out to the hall. He could see the door now, and could make out a hunched figure through the frosted glass. He walked forward and cautiously unlocked the door, opening just a little way. A moment later however, he saw who was standing outside and threw the door open completely.

Standing on Arthur's doorstep, looking very bedraggled and cold, was Francis Bonnefoy.

"Francis! What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Arthur asked in astonishment. He stood aside to let the shivering man into the house, then closed his door firmly against the elements.  
"M-missed my train." Francis said through chattering teeth. The rain had soaked through his thin coat and weighed down his usually golden hair, which was slowly dripping water into the hall carpet.  
"Idiot." Muttered Arthur, and pointed to the bathroom.  
"Put your wet things in the sink. I'll bring you some dry clothes and towels in a second."  
Francis was too cold to do anything but nod and shiver his way to the bathroom.

As soon as the door closed behind the Francis, Arthur put the kettle on and rushed upstairs to get some towels and dry clothes. Luckily, he and Francis were the same height so he didn't have any trouble finding a shirt and a pair of trousers that would fit the other man. He went back downstairs and knocked on the bathroom door. "Are you decent?" He said.  
"That's a loaded question mon ami" came the answer. Arthur relaxed. Francis couldn't be feeling too bad if he was already making jokes.  
"I've got some dry stuff for you, frog." He called. Francis stuck his head out of the door and held out a hand for the towels and dry clothes.  
He had clearly already taken off his wet clothes as what was visible of his chest was bare, and when he caught Arthur's eye he smirked. To Arthur's credit he didn't bat an eyelid, just boredly handed Francis the new clothes and went back into the kitchen to see to the kettle.

He made a cup of hot chocolate for Francis (he had no coffee, and hot chocolate seemed suitable for a rainy day) and, after putting it down on the coffee table, settled back onto his sofa. He picked up his book sighed. Despite the unexpected intrusion, he was beginning to feel relaxed once more, lulled by the fury of the storm outside.

A second later this calm was shattered as Francis threw open the door and strode into the room dramatically, rubbing his hair with a towel.  
"Hello, Francis." Arthur said cheerfully. "You look awful."  
Francis huffed and pointedly sat down next to Arthur, ignoring the obviously prepared seat on the sofa opposite.  
"C'est froid!" He complained folding his arms across his chest. Arthur rolled his eyes.  
"Wuss." He said, taking a sip of his tea. Francis glared at him.  
"Just because you stupid Englishmen are used to the cold and wet does not mean that we all are!" He said indignantly. "Some of us have countries where the sun is shining more than three days a year!" Arthur turned to scowl at the other man and noticed that Francis was still shivering quite a lot. He frowned. The weather was a lot colder in his country than Francis was used to, and if the frog went and caught pneumonia or something he'd never hear the end of it.  
"Drink your hot chocolate," he said, standing from his comfy seat yet again. "I'll get you a blanket or something, if it'll stop your moaning."  
Francis wrapped his hands around his cup and nodded, teeth now chattering together. 

When Arthur returned with a large tartan blanket (he had a feeling he'd stolen it from his brother) Francis was curled up on the sofa, shoulders hunched and his feet pulled up under him. He reminded Arthur suddenly of a cat that had been left out in the rain, and he had to work hard to conceal a smile. He walked over to the still-shivering man and wrapped the blanket around Francis' shoulders, perhaps a little more tenderly than he'd meant to.  
"Merci." Whispered Francis, taking another small sip of his drink. Some colour had returned to his cheeks, and, satisfied that his unexpected house guest was not going to freeze to death, Arthur returned to his place on the sofa and picked up his book once more.

Then the thunder started.

It's arrival was heralded by a flash of pure white lightning that shone through the open curtains of Arthur's living room, surprising both men. A second later the thunder sounded deafeningly overhead.  
Arthur felt rather impressed. I haven't seen a storm like this in a while, he thought.  
Judging by the short delay between the thunder and lightning, it must be directly over us.  
"I bet you don't have storms like this in France." He said, turning to Francis, who was looking apprehensively out of the window.  
"Non, thankfully." Said Francis sourly. Arthur rolled his eyes and was going to speak again when there was another flash from outside followed by a deafening peal of thunder. Francis jumped violently at the noise, spilling hot chocolate onto his lap. Arthur scowled.  
"Don't spill that on my sofa, idiot!" He sighed and stood up, yet again, from his comfortable seat. "I'll get you a tea-towel or something to mop it up." He muttered, turning to the door. Francis sat upright suddenly. 

"Wait! Where are you going?" He said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the fear that had started to take hold of him at the first sound of thunder. Arthur turned back to the sofa, confused, but at that moment the loudest crack of thunder sounded through the room. The lights flickered, and Arthur saw the panic that flashed across Francis' face. An instant later it was gone, and Francis dropped his gaze to the floor hurriedly. Arthur hesitated, unsure of what to say. Should he say anything? He could just sit down, pretend that he hadn't seen the fear that had sparked in Francis' eyes. But he knew Francis, knew that this had to be more than a childish fear and that Francis would want someone to listen.

So he sat down on the sofa next to Francis and took the nearly-empty cup of hot chocolate out of the other man's hands, setting it carefully on the table. Francis was shivering - whether from fear or cold he wasn't sure. Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly.  
"It's just a storm." He said weakly. Francis glared at him.  
"I know." He said shortly, turning away again.  
Silence stretched between them for a long moment. Then Francis sighed. "Storms like this remind me of war." He admitted, looking everywhere but at Arthur's face. "World war one in particular. I'd never experienced such storms before than the ones I sat through in the trenches there." He closed his eyes, and he was back in the wet darkness, listening to the thunder overhead, louder than even the boom of the guns and bombs. Feeling the slick mud pulling him further down, the rain pouring out of the sky as if intent on drowning him. Watching the lights from the nearby watch-house flicker as the lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Francis unconsciously curled up a little more on the sofa and he heard Arthur sigh beside him.

"The trenches were terrible." Arthur said after another pause. He swallowed nervously. "I know I still dream I'm back there sometimes." His voice softened. "But we're safe right now, Francis."  
Francis turned to him, taken aback.

It was not like Arthur to be comforting, or admit to something like the dreams, something he saw as a vulnerability (though they all had dreams like that). He was doing it to put Francis at ease, and Francis was grateful for it. He shifted, about to say something (perhaps express his thanks?) when he became aware of a dampness in his lap. 

"Ah, I am still covered in hot chocolate." He said, smiling sheepishly at the other man. Arthur rolled his eyes and handed him the tissue box.  
"You messy bastard." He said, and the mood relaxed as Francis attempted to clean up the mess he'd made. Arthur was about to move away and retrieve his book when there was another crack of thunder and flash of light. Francis felt panic shoot through him, and he instinctively grabbed Arthur's arm, needing something to hold onto. Arthur flinched in surprise at the contact, and turned to Francis, his eyes widening. Francis quickly let go and moved backwards a little. Arthur hated it when people invaded his personal space, and so what happened next was a surprise to both of them. 

Arthur hesitated, then reached out and gently pulled Francis into his arms, so that the other man's cheek was resting against his chest. With his other arm he pulled the blanket (which had nearly slipped onto the floor) over the both of them.

Francis froze in shock. For a moment, could only register the warmth. Arthur's chest was warm and soft against his cold cheek, and Francis couldn't understand how someone with such a cold manner (and weather) could be so warm. He opened his mouth to say something, but the moment had taken on the qualities of a strange and beautiful dream. He was afraid that if he moved or spoke it would disappear forever, so after a moment Francis relaxed into the embrace and simply let the other man cradle him against his chest. He couldn't stop himself from flinching as thunder sounded again from outside, but Arthur merely pulled him closer.  
"It's all right." He whispered, his breath warm against Francis' forehead. "The storm's moving away now. Listen, even the rain's stopping." Francis listened, and the rain did indeed sound softer than before. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the warm arms surrounding him. Arthur started to gently stroke his hair, and when the next peal of thunder sounded he barely twitched, his memories of the trenches slipping away as the coldness left him. He stifled a yawn, feeling sleepy and safe. The storm had quietened to almost nothing now, and before the last of the thunder had died away Francis had drifted off to sleep. 

Arthur looked down at the sleeping Frenchman and a smile tugged at his lips as a feeling of fondness grew in his heart. He knew he should get up, but was afraid he would wake Francis and besides, the weight of the other man in his arms made the idea of going upstairs to his bed suddenly seem a lot less desirable. 

He gently rested his cheek against the soft, blond waves of hair, eyes sliding shut, and let the soporific pattering of rain outside lull him to sleep as well.


End file.
